There are clothes on the chair, skydiving from both sides of it. They have been there for a while. Bedsheets, jeans, shirts, the works. Oh, they aren’t mine. They belong to the good people I share my room with. Personally I think, they add a lot of colour to the place. There is a bright orange towel, a grey dolphin, even a huge parrot-green laundry bag. Every time I see my own purple laundry bag, I am reminded of the tasks to be accomplished. No clothes have been washed in about a week; there are several to be laundered. The bed could do with a new pillow-cover. But anyhow, the point is: though there are thirty nine things I need to do about my den, I am beyond them now.
No, I haven’t achieved nirvana. In fact, *temptation alert* I look forward to a scrumptious dinner tomorrow. Loaded with all things I like, right from panipuri to ice-cream and jelly. I have earned them you see, much like a Bourneville bar. After all, I am the one who puts up with R’s tantrums day in and day out. But of course, I am also the one blessed to be the muse of his rhymes. If truth be told, I am the whining girl with an issue always up her sleeve, an elaborate description of which he has no choice but to listen to. His tantrums usually limit themselves to sane complaints like: “don’t you think we should not walk about in heavy rain?”
I beam when I see little children on a giant wheel. I also see the queue going all the way to the gate. I chuckle when the man whirls and twirls sugar candy and dishes it out to a young father and daughter. Irrespective of how he isn’t wearing gloves. I can spend an afternoon critiquing a bad movie or book. Even if we had originally planned to spend time reading. On his part, R buys me a ticket to that creaking giant wheel and a pair of sugar candies. He also lends active, if chuckling, punctuation support to my err, monologue.
The crux of my loud thinking is this: R, only I know what I often subject you to. Thank you for bearing with me, never (okay, infrequently) losing your patience when I go on harping about this and that and generally being my solace in this big, bad world. For all the cynicism the world sees in me, when I am with you, everything is as fine as the golden sun in the spring sky. I love you.
“I see trees of green, red roses too…
I see them bloom, for me and for you.
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
I see skies of blue, clouds of white,
Bright blessed days, dark sacred nights
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.”
27.6.12 Happy Anniversary, R.